For the past year, I have slept comfortably till seven. Seven is such a lovely time to wake. It is early enough to still have a good bit to contemplate the day before you have to begin but late enough that you can have a coffee, get dressed, start a chore or two and have a second cup of coffee at the perfect time mid morning.
My brain on quarantine, seems to feel I must get up with the sun. If it is four oclock, I can successfully get back to sleep for a couple hours. Four oclock is doable. Five or five thirty? Not so much. I tried and it just seems to lead me to laying there awake and restless.
So, in order that my day doesn't start to early, and in order that I don't wake the other guy in the hosue earlier than needs be, I may start wrting rambling insensible things, just like this. But my goodness and bygosh, I hate waking up too early. If I could still drink three or four cups of coffee in a day, then it would be worth it and enjoyable, but with a restriction to two, sigh.
Even with this grump to begin the morning, I made the choice today to stay up. There is a thing about early mornings. I love the fresh morning air. Now that we are in open window season, the outside and the inside share that crispness. I toss on my warm morning sweater on and suggle deep. I do my usual morning things and I stop and breath deep just because I can. In the times of pandemic, to be able to say that is no small thing.
Perhpas tomorrow will bring a four oclock awakening. If it does, I will lay there and listen for just a bit before I go back to sleep. Four oclock means you get the early bird song. You can listen to that first single note, and know that heaven is real and it is closer than we think. Next time, I get to hear the birdsong, mybe I will stay awake and watch the sky as the sun rises. Still important. Still precious.
Four oclock holds less charm as routine.
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